


Berserk

by CharbroilLaFlamme



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Blood and Injury, Gen, Mild Language, POV First Person, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 05:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14442570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharbroilLaFlamme/pseuds/CharbroilLaFlamme
Summary: So I’ve been playing lots of Skyrim: The Elder Scrolls V and it gave me inspiration to go back to writing this short thing I dropped a little bit ago.I freakin’ love Cicero, man. I don’t think you understand.Also, feedback is good! :)





	Berserk

"I don't know what that little weasel is up to, but that old, dead hag won't change a _gods-damned_ thing around here, you can mark my words on that."

From the next room Cicero stirred, given mighty pause.

Poor Mother. Was it _always_ like this in Cicero's absence?  
I grit my teeth, what... _disrespect_!  
I had tried to put the blasphemers on the straight and narrow—yet crooked—path of Sithis. I tried so hard.

But nobody thought anything of Cicero but as the happy, harmless Keeper.

I wished for something to strike her down. Anything.

But the pretender only pressed.  
And Cicero stayed silent. Oh, he did. While the pretender slandered and slandered.

"We left behind the old ways for a reason. We don't need this... Night Mother screwing it up again." Astrid besmirched.

Cicero threw the door open. Ohh, Cicero was angry.  
_Very angry._  
"Gods-damned clown." The dog said under his breath, he stood beside the pretender, his pretty little _trollop_. "What now?" He crossed his arms.  
I singled the Pretender out, scowling hatefully, but smiling. My hand hovered over my knife.

Veezara looked at me. And I watched him move his hand down close to his knife. Mirroring me with very perfect precision.  
He bared his teeth, he yanked the scuffed knife from its scabbard and hissed. How clumsily he approached. To protect the faker.  
With no hesitation, I pulled my dagger free, lunging forth with my arm poised to kill Astrid. The _bitch_.  
Veezara— _idiot_ —jumped in between my pointy, pointy dagger and Astrid's throat. "Damn—Astrid, _move_!" He said.

He got it right in the ribs. A perfect, curved slash that surely must have hurt! It was definitely bleeding! Bleeding Shadowscale blood!  
_Cicero's surprised these fools!_

The lizard stumbled into the stony wall and landed in the clear pool at the head of the room.

Nazir got up. But before he could start anything, Arnbjorn snarled, grabbing for a handful of my shirt, almost certainly ready to kill me. But he would not. Not today. Not _ever_!  
I swiped wildly with my knife. "Idiot mongrel! Cicero does this for the Mother you have profaned!"  
"Have you lost your mind?" The dog said. He withdrew to avoid Cicero’s flailing blade.  
"Traitors! _All of you!_ Vilifiers! Forfeiters of the old ways!"  
Arnbjorn proposed his side of the argument in the form of a nondescript snarl and incoherent growls.  
"You can't kill me, dog. Mother wouldn't be pleased." I smiled, holding my knife in front of me. Shadowscale blood dripping from the honed edge.  
"To Oblivion with your _Mother_!" Arnbjorn spat.

Giving pause, I shrieked in anger, diving after him.

But Arnbjorn's hulking, fur-sprouting hand caught my throat. I could feel him begin to squeeze Cicero’s throat for a quick kill.

I kicked away from him, falling. Falling far into the dirt.  
I turned tail, clambering up the stone steps, to the Black Door, I felt and heard the dog hot on my tail. His breath coming out hard, feet digging the dirt.

_Damn, damn, damn! Cicero must get away! Cicero must go!_

I threw the door open, shutting it again and fighting through trees.

I hopped to a low overhang, digging my knife into the mud and topsoil to pull myself up.

Cicero grit his teeth, using his nails, too, to lift himself over the side.  
The angry dog had his sword far too close to me, barely missing nimble Cicero’s thigh by mere inches.

He let out an angry roar, stirring birds from nests.  
He crawled up the side after Cicero.

Cicero was afraid, yes, very afraid.

Of course, Sithis wouldn’t let his most faithful die, now would he?  
I knew they’d send the Listener after me, but they simply _must_ know what Cicero is to our dear Mother.  
Cicero had to hide. Cicero had to _live_.

I had to get to Dawnstar. The Sanctuary of snow.  
Untouched.  
Unsullied.  
Free from the violation of the pretender’s... perverse brood of followers.  
A Brotherhood that was not the Brotherhood.  
It was unfortunate, but it had to be done. Cicero had to force them to see.  
Cicero isn’t evil, he just... wants what’s best for Mother.


End file.
